


Soft

by thegreatgayjatsby



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda, Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Canon Era, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Peggy Shippen as Plot, Smut, This is Turn's Ben and Hamilton's Charlie, relationship dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-19 01:04:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9410651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatgayjatsby/pseuds/thegreatgayjatsby
Summary: Benedict has never been soft with Charles before.





	

**Author's Note:**

> mmmmmm sign me up for this tbh

There are no words between them. Not this time.

Usually, Benedict is harsh with him, both in words, and touch, but this is different.

Benedict’s hands are just as rough as always, calloused and firm when they create a grip on Charles’ hips, but the grasp is not vicelike. His teeth do not draw blood. The marks he raises will fade by the next night. His breath is low in his throat, panting in Charles’ ear, and he moves at a slower pace than usual.

  
It is as if they are making love.

Lee knows this reprieve, whatever it is, cannot last.

The words he wants to speak to Arnold die on his tongue, swallowed by a moan as it chokes its way out of him. He buries his face into Benedict’s neck. Benedict shifts to tuck his knees to the backs of Charles’ thighs, hands running up a little to hold him by the waist. He is gentler than he has ever been before.

When Charles reaches orgasm, it does not rock through him, lighting his nerves ablaze, as it usually does, forced out of him by Benedict’s rough treatment. It soaks through every fiber of his being, and he finds himself trembling as he comes back to himself. He cannot decide if he is satisfied with the lack of pain or not. Benedict is just as heavy atop him as always, but he’s making a noticeable effort to hold himself aloft instead of just crushing Charles with his weight.

Charles is hyperaware of the way one of Benedict’s hands has slipped up the plane of his back to embed in his hair, fingers carding through the longest strands. They haven’t been together in a few months. Charles supposes this is where the sudden tender attitude has come from. Benedict has been in Philadelphia, and then, has betrayed the newly formed United States. They have seen each other, but haven’t had the chance to lie together.

When he sits back, slipping free of Lee’s body, Benedict averts his gaze. It is unlike him to be shy.

Charles reaches to touch his cheek, but Arnold moves away. Lee lets his hand drop to the mattress at his side and closes his eyes. There’s a smidgen of the Benedict he knows; always skittish around soft touches and care.

Lee jerks a little when Benedict is suddenly back between his legs with a cool cloth, wiping their spend from between his legs and on his belly. Charles stays silent. Benedict has never provided him aftercare more than tossing a rag at him and telling him to clean up.

When the task is completed, Benedict sinks down beside Charles and gathers him up into his arms. Charles relishes in being held, leaning back against Arnold’s broad chest. The two generals lay intertwined, and Charles finds himself drifting to the sensation of Benedict tracing the bitemark he’d left on his shoulder with two fingers.

Just as consciousness begins to evade him, lulled by Benedict’s unusual affection, the taller of them speaks. The words are enough to shock Charles back awake.

“Peggy Shippen was a mistake.”

Benedict speaks against Charles’ ear, and Lee blinks a little before rolling to face him. He places his hands on Benedict’s shoulders and looks him square in the face.

“Things can’t be the way they were.” He says quietly, and for once, he knows he can stand his ground against Arnold.

Benedict’s redcoat uniform frock is just on the edge of Charles’ vision behind Benedict, tossed over the edge of the mattress. Most likely, Benedict can see his continental coat much the same.

“I know.” Arnold’s gaze is unreadable, but his hands are soft when they cup Charles’ cheeks and bring him closer for a slow kiss. “Just let me appreciate what I almost threw away.”

Charles holds onto him, throat tight with emotion. Benedict kisses his temple. The gesture is perhaps the sweetest thing Benedict has ever done to Lee.

When Charles drifts off to sleep, cradled in Benedict’s arms, in the upstairs rental room of a little tavern in no-man’s-land, he feels safe. He isn’t quite so sure what that means, but he enjoys it while it lasts.


End file.
